


The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea

by htebazytook



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Beachfic, Coming Out, First Time, Humor, M/M, Romance, Sex Education, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-08-07
Updated: 2011-08-07
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:37:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297394
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/htebazytook/pseuds/htebazytook
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pinto are bored at the Jersey Shore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea

_**The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea**_  
 **Title:** The Devil And The Deep Blue Sea  
 **Author:** [](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/profile)[**htebazytook**](http://htebazytook.livejournal.com/)  
 **Rating:** NC-17  
 **Disclaimer:** <\--  
 **Pairing:** Zach/Chris  
 **Author's Notes:** Pinto are bored at the Jersey Shore.

Someone had better show up soon, or else they'd be welcomed by a very dead and heat stroked Zach.

He sits alone in the hot-as-fuck beach house while the kitschy seagull clock ticks onward and the texts roll in. John's missed his plane and filming is running over for Zoe; Karl had never been sure if he could make it and Simon thinks they should find a better time in the fall in Malibu. Which _would_ be easier, but Zach's still a little hurt.

This isn't just a weekend drive to the coast—it's a whole _thing_. Zach's made the effort to rent the wonderfully aged little beach house, gone to the trouble to organize a fun little Trek reunion, and where has it left him? Sitting here solo with too many hors d'oeuvres in the fridge.

And that's when some sad parody of a Jersey Shore castmember barges in. "I'm here!" it says, tossing a backpack on the couch and whipping off Ray-Ban shades to reveal:

". . . Chris?" Zach can feel the horror contorting his face.

". . . Zach?" Chris says, pats him on the shoulder and walks past him to the kitchen. "Man it's hot in here. Don't you have fucking air conditioning?"

Zach follows cautiously, peers at the mysterious Chris-shaped creature from the kitchen doorway. "What are you . . . what is in your hair."

"Hey, I'm just trying to fit in, man."

"Is that a _spray_ tan?" Zach asks, fascinated. "I didn't even know it was possible for you to get a tan."

"It's not," Chris says. "Hence the spray tan. Come on, man."

"Okay, well, first thing's first—we have to Clorox wipe you from head to toe—"

"Kinky."

"And then a nice gel-removing shower before we go out and find you some normal beach clothes."

"Lame," Chris sighs. "And what exactly is wrong with this?" He gestures down at the bling and the tight-fitting shirt, which would be hot if it wasn't unutterably douchey. "What would you deem 'normal beach clothes'?"

"Like . . . T-shirts with lighthouses on them and flip flops and fanny packs."

Chris rolls his eyes. "Fine. _I_ thought we could have some _fun_ but I guess Zachary doesn't wanna come out and play." He turns away to scourge the fridge.

Zach catches the double-meaning. "Oh fuck off," he says. "I'm not at the pride parade stage yet, okay?"

"You mean you're afraid."

"To go out to gay bars filled with seasoned homosexuals? Yeah, it's a little intimidating."

Chris turns back to him. "You've gotta do it sometime," he says, not a dig. Walks back into the living room with beer in hand.

Zach follows. "So what took you so long, anyway? Everyone else has bailed, as I'm sure you know. I'm bored out of my fucking mind, here."

"What, you're too spoiled to watch TV without cable now?"

"There's no TV."

"O- _kay_ , so read your book."

Zach sighs. "Didn't bring a book."

" _You_ didn't bring a book? What do you mean you didn't bring a book?"

Zach throws his hands up. "I don't know, I was under the impression that there would be a whole Trek cast here and we could go over the script or whatever . . ."

"Wait wait. So what you're saying is you only brought the script?"

"I don't know! I thought we were gonna go out and hang out and read and fuck, stop giving me that look, asshole, jeez."

Chris stops looking at him like he's crazy and starts in with the unattractive giggling. Eyes squinty and blue and teeth bared just a bit over those lips. Okay, so it's not that unattractive. "So let me get this straight: you've rented a hole in the wall with one bedroom, no air conditioning, and a TV that hasn't worked since Happy Days was on the air. Have you really squandered your money away on bad hats that quickly?"

"Dude, we're gonna get you a _badass_ hat, which is what you meant to say surely, and then you'll be hooked." Zach pauses to let Chris agree with him, but it's strangely slow in coming. "Anyway—there's two _beds_ , just one bed _room_. I'll take the fucking pull out couch, man. It's probably more comfortable anyway."

"How considerate."

". . . You're a dick."

Chris shrugs. "So, it's fucking hot in here. What do you propose to do about it?"

"Go to the beach."

"Okay, but is it like an _empty_ beach?"

"It's fine," Zach assures, but Chris doesn't look convinced. "Just wear sunglasses if you're so worried."

Chris raises his eyebrows expectantly. "We do that all the time anyway. Doesn't seem to faze the paparazzi."

"Relax, Chris. This is tourist land. Everyone's very preoccupied with being as touristy as possible and aren't likely to notice obscure sci-fi actors."

Chris is still suspicious. "Okay," he says reluctantly.

*

"You can't be serious," Chris says.

"Why not? I've been doing this since I was five!"

"Why not?" Chris says. "You've been doing this since you were five. Time to let go, dude."

"Um, never." Zach just grabs his fluorescent green boogie board and heads for the beach entrance, leaving Chris no choice but to follow him.

Zach kicks off his sandals at the bench there by the dunes while Chris looks on. "Aren't you worried someone might take them?"

"Maybe a little, but then again these are from K-mart whereas yours are apparently Louboutin."

" _Fine_ ," Chris says, hides his shoes under the bench and trudges onward through the sand. "Fuck this shit is hot. You made me take them off just to torture me, didn't you?"

"Obviously." But Zach's starting not to care about being an attentive host, preoccupied as he is with the mercifully cool breeze rolling in from the ocean.

Zach makes his way into the water quickly, the initially jarring cold of the waves rendered glorious by the heat of the day. He ignores the goosebumps on his arms and dives right under the first daunting wave. Finds to his surprise that Chris is keeping up. He grins at Zach and dunks under unflinchingly.

When Chris emerges from the water Zach is suddenly struck with this rose-tinted vision wherein Chris is a gorgeous, magical creature of the deep with water dripping over delicious arms and his mouth gasping in air and the way his eyelashes clump and his eyes steal color from the sky as he _looks_ at Zach with sun glistening over his wet body.

Chris laughs. "What?"

Zach finds himself gaping, dives under an oncoming wave to prevent himself from telling Chris he's a mermaid or something.

*

After sand banishing showers, food, and nightfall, they sit on the deck with beers in hand, and Chris says:

"I mean, you know I'm gay too, right?"

Zach prides himself on not sputtering.

"Ah," Chris says. "I'll take that as a no."

"Are you . . . okay, okay, I get it: you're fucking with me."

Chris laughs. "Why do you always assume I'm fucking with you? I just figured, you know, you're all newly de-closeted . . . I thought I'd bare my homo soul to you or something. I mean, I know it can be kind of overwhelming at first, even if people already sort of knew."

But Zach's too flabbergasted to be touched by Chris's concern just yet. "People already sort of knew about you? Who are these people? Last time I checked, you were going through sexy female starlets like, well, like most newly minted heartthrobs go through starlets."

"Fine, fine. I don't exactly go around shouting it from the rooftops, but all my so-called girlfriends knew. It's a symbiotic thing. You know how it is."

"I . . . didn't think that stuff really happened in the 21st century." How the fuck did Zach miss this? "Who have you _dated_?" he asks before he can stop himself.

Chris laughs. "Oh you'd like to know, wouldn't you?" He pauses to drink his beer while Zach sees him in a new light. In a new, available, terrifyingly sexy light. And his mind runs rampant with the idea of Chris's mouth or the strength of his arms or the sounds he might make in bed.

It's all a little much for Zach's beer-addled brain, and he changes the subject:

"So yeah, I mean, thanks for coming and everything," he says, and immediately wants to kick himself.

But Chris ignores his awkwardness. "Duh. I wouldn't leave you hanging." Drinks. "It was kind of a dick move for the others not to show up. I mean, _all_ of them? Seriously? I'm kind of pissed off on your behalf."

"Yeah, I dunno. It's kind of a childhood vacationy thing I wanted to share or whatever, so . . ."

"A vacationy thing where there's nothing to do and it's hot and kind of depressing?"

"You're an asshole."

Chris grins, mischievous. "Okay, so, I'm beat," he says, standing. "Bedtime?"

"Yeah, I'm fucking jet-lagged."

They go their separate ways and Zach unlocks the secret of the pull out couch with commendable ease, throws a sheet over it halfheartedly and can't decide if he should charge his phone. And that's his rock solid excuse to go and check in with Chris in his inexplicably duck-themed room with lacy curtains.

"Hey, do you charge your phone every night?" Zach asks, standing in the doorway. "Mine's pretty fucking robust."

"Not usually, but I've been hitting the Angry Birds like a junkie all day so it's on the verge of death." Chris plugs his charger in and starts organizing everything for bed – towels, deodorant, contacts.

Zach stands there stupidly watching Chris's tendons working, shakes himself out of it. "Okay, well, 'night."

"Yeah, sweet dreams, Zachary."

*

"Zach. Wake up, Zach. It's an emergency. I'm not kidding."

"Whaizzit?" Zach groans, doesn't buy Chris's urgency for a second.

"My phone is dead," Chris says gravely.

Zach sits straight up on the couch. "What are you talking about."

Chris holds up his phone for evidence. The blank screen glares at him.

Zach scrambles for his lifeless phone on the end table, mutters things like _Why?_ and _It wasn't your time . . ._

Chris erupts, "None of these fucking sockets work with our things!"

Zach stifles a giggle.

"Oh grow up, this is serious, man—I can't even check my texts or Twitter or . . . yeah, okay, maybe it's not _that_ serious."

Zach stands, too close to Chris and not realizing it at first, but then he's blushing like crazy and hoping to God Chris reads it as a result of standing up so quickly or sleep or something. The way Chris looks him up and down and smiles a bit says otherwise.

Zach escapes ASAP, taking a stab at fixing his hair in a seashell-framed mirror. "Yeah, I mean. It's not that bad. There's plenty of stuff to do at the beach without our phones."

"Or computers," Chris adds.

"Uuggghh, fuck me."

Chris laughs, says, "Maybe later," which makes Zach's brain go _thud_ for a minute. "Come on, I think I saw an old-ass record player in the dining room."

Zach takes a little extra time fixing his hair to let the crazy heat running up his spine chill the fuck out before following.

*

"So it's just one lousy record of obscure big band shit?"

"I'm sorry, were you _expecting_ Kesha?"

Chris psh's. "Whatever, just push play."

Zach sighs. "It's not an iPod, philistine," he says, puts the record on and turns the fan up and joins Chris on the couch.

  
 _I don't want you_  
But I hate to loose you  
You've got me in-between the devil and the deep blue sea

 _I forgive you_  
'Cause I can't forget you  
You've got me in-between the devil and the deep blue sea

 _I oughtta cross you off my list_  
But when you come knockin' at my door  
It seems to give my heart a twist  
And I come runnin' back for more

 _I should hate you_  
But I guess I love you  
You've got me in-between the devil and the deep blue sea

  
"This isn't even like _standard_ old standards," Chris says.

But nevertheless they listen in silence for a couple of songs, and Zach enjoys that distinctive scratchy sound quality, the singer's unapologetic accent and the sweet predictability of the chords.

"So," Chris says after awhile, and when Zach looks over he's studying his nails and oddly solemn so Zach listens. "How are you, anyway."

"Um, good. New York is awesome, so."

"You BFF's with double K yet?"

"Excuse me?"

Chris sighs. "Kim Kardashian? Fuck you are out of the loop . . ."

" _I'm_ out of the loop?"

" _Anyway_ , that's New York. How are _you_?"

Since when is Chris so concerned with his well-being? "Well, currently I'm still licking my wounds from being stood up by the rest of our cast-mates."

"Can't say that I blame them, now, but yeah. Assholes."

"Yeah, I mean, whatever." And they listen to the music for awhile. The song changes and the silence there takes forever so Zach says: "Well, I'm bored."

"Yeah, what is there to do at the beach besides boogie board with the ten-year-olds?"

"Um, ice cream. Corn on the cob. Pizza."

"Anything _besides_ food?" Chris leans all confidentially close. "Like, what did you do when you were a kid?" And it's just weird to have him be this earnest and attentive.

" _Well_ ," Zach says, "we'd spend hours making terrible sandcastles on the beach, and Joe always wanted to be in charge. Then we'd go mini-golfing at night and our uncle Tony would kick our asses. I dunno, it was mostly a family thing. It's different to come back now and not have that."

"What do you mean?"

"I dunno, it feels, I dunno, lonely to be here without the whole family around. Like, back in childhood before stress and obligations—"

"I feel like I never talk to you anymore," Chris interrupts, eyes unreadable.

"We talk all the time," Zach laughs.

"No, we _text_ all the time. We email and shit. It's kind nice to just hang out and chill, you know?"

"That's what the beach is all about, yo."

Chris raises his eyebrows. "Okay then."

"You're like, you know, the only person I've ever really talked to about it," Zach blurts.

". . . About the beach?

"About the gay stuff. It's all kinda new, and I mean, I don't have that much experience with this kind of thing."

Chris frowns. "When you say 'this kind of thing' do you mean coming out or . . . ?"

"I've never really . . . "

"Go on."

"Dated?" Zach tries.

"You've never really dated?"

And Zach wonders exactly what's loosened his tongue—there doesn't seem to be any alcohol present, and the music can't be responsible. It must have something to do with the familiarity of Chris's face with its blemishes and the perfect symmetry of his nose.

Zach says, "I dunno, you know, like I've only ever dated women . . ."

Chris looks like he finds this too good to be true. He coughs. "Excuse me?"

Zach puts his face in his hands. "Ugh, I don't know why I'm even talking to you about this."

"You've never had sex with a man."

"Ohmigod _shut up_ , Chris . . ."

Chris can't hold back his laughter.

" _Dude_."

"No no, come on, look," Chris says. "I'm not trying to be an asshole or anything, but it sounds like you could use some instruction."

"I mean. Yes. Like. No. I dunno," Zach says eloquently.

"I mean, I could teach you," Chris says, refusing to look at him, "sometime . . ."

"What, now?" Zach laughs, but his heart pounds.

And Chris favors him with a simmering, considering look.

Zach tries not to swallow too obviously as Chris encroaches, predatory, all strange perspectives that make him look alien—leaning, head tilted down, the artistic twist of his torso.

Chris goes right for Zach's pants, and Zach is weirdly thankful that he's at least a little turned on, like it'd be embarrassing not to be in the face of such an offer or something.

And now Chris is touching him through his borderline childish pajamas and Zach's breathing is well and truly fucked. "So," he practically squeaks. Clears his throat. "What, no romance? No attempt at foreplay?"

"You want a kiss or something?" Chris says, licks his lips, and it hits Zach that Chris is well aware of how devastatingly hot that is.

Zach laughs, spurred by some sexually-charged bravery to lean up and try to kiss him but Chris laughs and pushes him away. "Girl," Chris says.

"Sexist."

"Chauvinist," Chris one up's, pulling Zach's underwear out of the way, and by now Zach's forgotten why they'd been talking in the first place.

Chris spits into his hand in a delightfully dirty way, then wraps it around Zach's cock and flashes his teeth at him, which is what animals do to display dominance, and which turns Zach on to think about.

It feels good, of course, and it looks good with Chris doing it, half straddling Zach on the regrettably patterned couch with sunlight painting stripes over him through the blinds and God Zach wants to touch him, reaches out and under Chris's shirt just to feel.

Chris jumps a little, then catches Zach's eye in a way that steals his breath. Whips his shirt off his head and away, then does the same to Zach. "There. Does that make you happy?"

"No," Zach says, takes advantage of Chris's precarious perch on the edge of the cushion to tackle him.

Chris gives a luscious moan as he falls backward but after a minute of feeling Chris's chest and sucking on his neck Chris pushes him away, reorganizes them until he's straddling Zach properly, every bit of exposed skin sticking in the damp heated air.

Chris's got his hand on Zach's cock again in no time, and Zach scrambles to reciprocate but Chris catches his hand and slams it back into a pillow. "Just let me," he says.

And Zach's so wound up that it isn't long before he's gasping into Chris's neck and straining and coming all over his belly and Chris's talented fingers.

It's hard to function through the wooziness of orgasm and avoid giggling or telling Chris he thinks he's cute or something, but Zach shakes it off valiantly and goes right for the obvious tent in Chris's pants but Chris rolls out of reach, pulls his cock out himself and Zach's mouth waters at the sight of him jerking himself off with his lip caught between his teeth and brows knit and sweat everywhere.

Zach can't stop himself from saying, "God you look . . . _God_."

And Chris laughs shakily at that. Zach never thought he could be so invested in the sight of someone pleasuring themselves, but the concentration on Chris's face and his obviousness to the world is captivating. Chris comes soon enough and his whole body relaxes. "Fuck," he mutters, laughs and grabs a tissue from the coffee table, then hands one to Zach thoughtfully.

Zach cleans up, and they sit there mindless for some indeterminate stretch of time like they're stoned out of their minds.

"Well, I'm bored again," Chris announces.

Zach blinks himself back to full consciousness, then laughs because he'd been thinking the same thing, not that naked satiated Chris all up against him was uninteresting. "Wanna go shopping?"

Chris snorts, sits up and goes in search of his shirt. "You only say that because we're both all honest and homosexual now and you think I'd want to go shopping with you."

"There's a Paint a Pot," Zach coaxes.

"Well what the fuck are we waiting for then?" Chris throws Zach's shirt at him.

*

Chris paints a coffee mug and Zach paints a turtle, and Chris gloats about investing in a functional Paint a Pot piece.

They look at hermit crabs and Chris tries to convince Zach it's a good idea to buy one just to get a Batman shell. They make fun of girls wearing bikini tops who shouldn't be and get salt water taffy. Zach even finds Chris a nice touristy beach hat for like twenty bucks.

They don't see each other nearly enough, and the mere fact that Chris even showed up still blows Zach's mind a little, not to mention the distraction of Chris's smile, eyes, knees, and his etcetera.

"Well!" Zach sighs, dropping a bag of needless trinkets on the coffee table. "That killed a couple hours. What are we gonna do now?"

"What do you mean what are we gonna do?" Chris says, getting close and getting Zach's breath accelerating. "We still haven't covered blowjobs, for goodness' sake—it's kind of an integral part of the gay repertoire, and we wouldn't want you embarrassing yourself," he says, but the words get jumbled up in a breathy sudden kiss. Zach makes an involuntary sound that makes Chris drop his keys and hold him firmly close.

They haven't really kissed for any length of time, yet, and it's dizzying, feels more intimate than the actual sex just because it's so new. Chris alternates biting, mm _hard_ , on Zach's upper and lower lip, then retreats and leaves Zach leaning stupidly in for more kissing.

Chris laughs and licks lightly along Zach's jawline, ending at a surprisingly erogenous spot right before his ear and sucking and making Zach's knees weak, something that he thought didn't happen in real life. It probably has something to do with the hardness pressed against Zach's thigh and lingering scratch of Chris's stubble on his face.

The air is so hot, and sunscreen's left them vaguely oily, so everywhere they're touching—Chris's shoulder, calf, cheek—is instantly hot and slippery. Chris bites at his earlobe like he's starving for any piece of him he can get and Zach can't stop himself from moaning and feeling down his shoulders and sides to _that ass_.

Chris smiles against Zach's face, there in that place where the close heat of their breathing lives. He pushes Zach backward, tripping over sandy carpet onto sandy couch cushions and landing with Chris straddling him again, just smiling and dirty and Zach delights in the rare entertainment of his eyes.

Chris leans in leisurely for another kiss, teasing Zach's lips apart with his tongue and tickling the roof of his mouth. Zach can't stop running his hands up Chris's arms because, I mean, _yes_ please . . .

At this point Chris is sucking on Zach's tongue in an utterly suggestive way, so Zach moans and gets caught up in what's to come and moans at that too.

Chris slides his mouth away, lets his lips brush lingeringly over Zach's chin, then down his neck. Pushes Zach's shirt up to draw circles around his nipple with his tongue and bite in such a way that Zach gasps and arcs up into it.

"Okay, baby," Chris says, sardonic but it only turns Zach on to hear his voice like that, "school's in session."

Zach starts to laugh, uncomprehending and obsessed with Chris's scent. "Uh huh. Huh?"

Chris smirks, starts moving southward.

"Oh hey," Zach says. "Oh. I thought. Um. I thought. Hm."

"I hope you're taking good notes," Chris says against his chest. "There's gonna be a test later."

Zach nearly laughs at the ridiculousness of it all but it coincides with Chris's mouth on his nipple so _fuck_ . . .

Chris slides down his body sinuously and Zach can feel his eyes widening, breathing fast in the crushing heat of the house with Chris on top of him.

Chris yanks on Zach's button and zipper like they've offended him, pulls his shorts off with some difficulty but returns again to hover with intent. Gets Zach's underwear out of the way and wastes no time in sucking Zach's cock down like he's fucking thirsty for it.

He tugs down on his balls while sucking, and Zach's overwhelmed by the sight of him moving up and down his cock but can't look away for the life of him.

Chris does this thing where he puts his tongue against the roof of his mouth and twists it down and around and, fuck, that feels awesome so Zach fists his hands in pillows and is rewarded with a muffled chuckle from Chris that vibrates.

He starts moving up and down more steadily, not impressively deep or anything but it's amazing with his hands incorporated at the base and squeezing his balls just so. Zach's so breathless with the feeling of it, concentrating and disbelieving and wracked from head to toe with pleasure.

"I'm gonna . . . I'm . . . ohGod—"

Chris stops for a minute right at the wrong moment, then pumps Zach's cock hard, _just like that_ with his mouth fastened to the head, licking firmly just underneath until Zach comes.

And while stars burst in cliché behind Zach's eyelids Chris keeps his cock in his mouth and continues to suck gently. After the lustful fog has cleared Zach blinks Chris into focus, and somehow he's ended up beside Zach on the couch again.

Zach reaches out for him vaguely, mind melted but he's determined to actually get Chris off this time. Chris intercepts his hand.

"Dude, I'm good," Chris laughs, and Zach finally notices that he's sweating and panting and equally boneless.

"You already—?"

"You're hot," Chris shrugs, grinning.

*

"Wake uuuuup," Chris is screaming in his ear. "Low tide isn't gonna last forever!"

Chris may have been skeptical before, but clearly he's caught the boogie boarding bug. He practically drags Zach out into the waves and they stay there with the hoards of kids giving them weird looks for what seems like hours. And it may well have been hours, if Chris's skin is any indication.

"Dude, are you okay?" Zach asks when they're at the house again.

"Um, sure."

Zach's struggling not to laugh. "How do you not feel that?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?"

Zach pokes Chris's shoulder. Chris winces. "You're bright red, man. Here." And Zach disappears to the bathroom to rummage for some aloe, head clouded up with maternal instinct for the present.

Chris laughs. "It's just any excuse to touch me now, huh?" But he sighs as the cool gel meets his skin.

"Shut up," Zach says. "I'm fixing you."

"Mm, where else are you gonna fix me?"

Zach laughs, glad he's out of sight—his face may be as red as Chris's shoulders. "I dunno, what needs fixing?"

Chris exhales through his nose, amused. Turns around and lets his hand trail down Zach's chest and lower. "Use your imagination."

Zach's pulse starts to pound. It's hard to believe this has become their reality so quickly. It makes nervousness stick in his throat. "I uh," he says, shaky with sudden want. "How far have I graduated?"

"In gay sex ed?" Chris laughs, but he presses his hand between Zach's legs. "Well fuck, I dunno—let's just see what you've learned so far."

Zach only wants to kiss him, obsessed with his mouth and the way he alternates between sucking on his top and bottom lip, the minute moans he makes that hover between them, the particular scratch of his poorly-maintained stubble. He holds Zach so close, twists his hair up like he's desperate to rip off a part of Zach for his own.

And that's more or less what Zach wants to do to him right back, but he wants that via the look on Chris's face when he comes and he wants it to be because of him _directly_ , and if Chris tries to brush him off and take care of things himself he'll have hell to pay.

Zach finds a way to get them horizontal on the couch, the now-familiar location of their altercations. Loves the gasp pulled out of Chris with the impact and the overwhelmed flutter of his eyes when Zach grinds down into him, mouths magnetized wet and sloppy and good.

Chris shimmies down a little to obsess over Zach's neck with sucking kisses while limbs tangle painfully wonderfully. Zach's panting when Chris finds the perfect place to suck at the juncture of neck and shoulder. Zach moans something unintelligible and can't stop rocking his hips down into him.

Chris mutters, low and growly, "God I just wanna fuck you already."

And Zach pushes past the anxiousness about what this is and what they're doing and why Chris is doing it and just says, "So what are you waiting for? I _want_ you," which is true enough.

But they're too impatient to make it that far, and Chris bring Zach to climax easily—palm slippery with pre-come and massaging the tip of his cock while the other hand moves lightly up and down the shaft until Zach's begging and Chris jerks him harder and Zach comes all too soon.

This time Zach isn't so easily appeased and he shoves Chris until he's got him on his back, holds Chris's arms over his head with some difficulty—Chris squirming and straining and generally appetizing beneath him, saying, "I'm fine. Come on, Zach, you don't have to . . . oh, what are you . . . _oh_ . . ."

The skin of Chris's neck tastes inexplicably salty, magically still sun-hot under his tongue. And sucking under his Adam's apple like this elicits such a lovely sound followed by shaky fingers in his hair.

Zach undoes Chris's fly while continuing to kiss his neck, back to his plush protesting mouth for a spell and when he gets his hand around Chris's cock Chris moans loud up against their crushed together lips.

Zach moves down his body, mind rushing with lust, can't even think about being nervous or hesitant before taking Chris into his mouth. And it's different than he'd expected—hotter and harder and engrossingly muskier. Zach sucks as hard as he can, tries to go deep and fails miserably. Sucks harder to make up for it and wraps his hand around the base of Chris's cock, finds a decently fast way to move up and down his length.

Chris grips Zach's hair like he can't help himself, fingers constantly relaxing considerately and forgetting and pulling again. Chris turns his head to the side and scrunches his eyes shut and mutters, " _Fuck_ , fuck yes . . ."

Zach's mouth muscles begin to protest so he settles for jerking Chris off instead, and Chris keeps gasping obscenities and looking beautiful so Zach leans up enough to kiss him quiet, gets Chris's arms tight around his neck in response and gets to feel Chris's body shudder when he comes.

*

"What is that," Chris says.

"The new script, what do you think?" Zach throws it down on the coffee table and sits next to Chris on the couch. "Don't you think we should at least attempt to read through it a little while we're in the same timezone?"

"Well it's certainly taken you long enough to suggest it," Chris says.

"You've kept me busy," Zach points out.

Chris makes an amused sound.

"Okay!" Zach retreats to kneel on the floor and dig through his suitcase. He finds the crinkled first draft of the script under his just-in-case hoodie and Chris snorts.

"I see you're taking this top secret shit seriously."

"Shut up," Zach says, sits beside Chris on the couch and smoothes out the pages.

Zach opens to the first page. Chris looks over his shoulder and doesn't say anything. Zach flips ahead a little, then sits back and taps his finger over his lips.

Zach says, "This . . . is blank."

"Uh, yeah," Chris says. "Duh."

"There is nothing here. At all. It just says Star Trek 12 on the cover."

"I for one am stunned you haven't looked at it once this whole time."

Zach just nods and stares at the fucking decoy script for awhile. "J.J. is an asshole."

Chris laughs, and it's so easy the way he just turns his head and starts kissing him. The careful slide of lips and uncomfortable tilt of heads and they don't touch otherwise but it gives Zach's heart a twist. Something dark and dizzy strikes all of a sudden and makes Zach feel desperate about the minutia of their mouths. The kiss delves deeper, sideways, Chris's hand in his hair.

"I just wanna . . . I wanna do _everything_ to you," Chris says after a minute, leaning his forehead against Zach's temple like he's just as hopelessly dizzy.

"'Kay," Zach agrees. "I mean, yeah. Me too. I mean, I want to, uh . . ."

He forgoes words and reaches, gets his hand at the back of Chris's neck to hold him still for a perfect hard kiss that makes Chris whimper involuntarily before scotching closer and seizing Zach's face in his hands and kissing back.

Desire is such a little word for what Zach feels—it throbs in the teeth, it blacks out his vision, it curtails his existence and focuses it into a Chris-scented moment. And fuck, he's never gotten this subconsciously poetic with anyone.

In the present Chris is more or less clawing at him, breathing desperately through his nose and between their kisses, keeping Zach impossibly close so the kiss is barely functional anymore.

" _Zach_ ," Chris says, subsonic.

"Mm." And Zach takes hold of Chris's chin to tilt it up again, chases his mouth with seeking kisses while Chris groans and fists his hands in Zach's shirt over and over, touches Zach's arm and Zach's hand and their fingers lace together briefly.

Their shirts disappear, and Chris pulls Zach down on top of him, legs twisting over Zach's to keep him there. Every time Zach tries to gets his fly open or kiss him elsewhere Chris just captures his mouth again and moans into it in a way that Zach can't refuse.

Zach gets impatient, holds Chris's arms above his head and goes for his belt but Chris spoils it by thrashing around.

Zach laughs. "Just let me," he teases, reaches down again but Chris throws his hands away with sudden frenzied force.

"Hey, uh, you know what? I think low tide is only for another half hour or something, so maybe we should get to the beach." Chris says this shirtless and hard with Zach panting on top of him, and it's not like he's pushing him away in disgust or de-friending him on Facebook, but it means _something_ , and it makes whatever it is that's between them now cower in a sudden spotlight.

But Zach lets it go—too thrown off to call him on it. Too suddenly unsure of his footing, here. "Yeah, sure," he says.

*

By the next day Zach is certain that something's changed. Chris reads the local paper, sits on the porch to drink his coffee and generally keeps out of Zach's way until the rain begins.

Chris waits as long as possible to come back inside, and when he does his arms and feet are wet.

"Hey, we're out of milk," he says from the doorway, tired in the face and looking off to the side.

Zach's too afraid of knowing for sure to ask him what's going on, so he just stands and grabs his keys. "Let's go."

The rain seems to be letting up, and Zach hopes that's symbolic, but after a tense shopping trip they're back in the car with groceries and nothing further said between them and the rain pounding down, so Zach has got to say _something_ :

"Good thing we got in our beach time before today."

Chris nods, won't look at him.

"Okay, what the _fuck_ is wrong with you, Chris? _Chris_." And Zach turns Chris's head to him.

Distress is writ into his every feature, but Zach fixates on his eyes: big blue and betraying so much.

And Zach can't stand that, leans swiftly in to kiss him and gets a startled sound but nothing more in response, pulls back to find Chris looking at him and Zach can't read it at all now—blank with sheer terror or daring hope or ridden with regret.

The rain is thundering down on the car now, and Zach feels shaky with uncertainty, pulsing with wet rainy heat and uncomfortable. He reaches out to Chris again on impulse and Chris escapes the car in a flurry of limbs.

Zach follows him, hopes to God he's got his keys and sprints after Chris through the parking lot. The sound of the rain is unexpectedly deafening.

"Hey— _fuck_ —fucking hold on!"

"I happen to like this shirt, Zach," Chris yells, muffled through the pummeling rain.

Zach catches up, splashing over asphalt, catches Chris's arm. "Chris."

" _What?_ "

"Just shut _up_ ," Zach says, kisses him in the parking lot while waterfalls of rain surround them. Chris doesn't respond at first, but soon he's clutching Zach's heavy wet clothes for purchase, moving his lips hard against Zach's like he wants the Academy Award for Most Passionate Kiss. And it _feels_ like a movie—it feels like there's a camera spinning around them, making Zach dizzy with the raw elegance of it all, with the heavy salty air and Chris's rain-soaked mouth.

And instead of gasping for air after Chris erupts with rapid nervous words: "I thought you just wanted sex, and I thought I could just do that and keep it all on my end or whatever and it'd be fine, but I forgot about it being with _you_ , and, and, I don't fucking know, everything's all mixed together now and I never meant for that to happen. I don't wanna fuck things up, our friendship, whatever—I don't care if you just wanted to hook up, 'cause that's totally cool, seriously, I can deal with it, it's just my own stupid . . . my . . . it's just this simple feeling with you. I just don't wanna loose that."

"Fuck," Zach says, mostly to himself, mostly just freaked out by Chris being freaked out, just kisses him again.

And Chris laughs his way out of the kiss, but his voice isn't any less distraught: "You're in New York now, and you know, we're so busy and nobody can even get together for fucking vacation. We're barely even friends, we barely even talk, we. It couldn't work so that's why, just. Fuck."

"Look," Zach says, pushes Chris's hair out of his face, but of course that doesn't prevent the rain from dripping onto it so he just keeps pushing the water away and looking at him, traces his eyebrows cheek jaw mouth. "I . . . forget."

"I _can't_ fucking forget about you," Chris says, "and that's gonna fuck everything up. Ugh, why couldn't you have come out before? Like, when I could've capitalized on it."

Zach laughs. "So, what, if I'd come out long ago you would've what? Seduced me and won my heart and I never would've moved?"

"Yeah."

" . . . Oh."

"I know, right?"

Zach nods dumbly for a minute, and then he goes in for another kiss.

*


End file.
